


A Phantastic New Year

by firegrilled



Series: Ghost Hunters and Non-Believers [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Childhood Friends, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Ghost Hunter!Jean, Haunted Houses, Humor, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mutual Pining, Phasmophobia AU, Sexual Humor, Urban Explorer! Marco, because i'm me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firegrilled/pseuds/firegrilled
Summary: Some people choose to spend their New Years amongst friends and family celebrating but Jean isn't most people. He preferred to drag his childhood friend on wild ghost hunts. Despite being a non-believer, Marco humored his longitme friend for reasons beyond their professional relationship.Or a ghost hunter and photographer get in over their heads while dancing around their painfully obvious pining.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein
Series: Ghost Hunters and Non-Believers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099121
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10
Collections: JeanMarco Gift Exchange 2020





	A Phantastic New Year

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commodorecliche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commodorecliche/gifts).



“I’m telling you Marco, this place has it all! It's an old ass building, there are numerous ghost sightings, mysterious disappearances, and, best of all, its most famous ghosts are a pair of gay lovers with a tragic story,” Jean explained, lifting a finger with every fact he listed off. The giddy smile on his face while he described his intended destination brought an equivalent one to his passenger.

“Please keep your hands on the steering wheel, Jean. The equipment in the back isn’t cheap,” Marco reminded him, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He turned to stare out the window but instead focused on the almost transparent reflection of his driver. On the darker parts of passing scenery he could make out more of Jean’s sharp features.

“Hey, I’m serious! This could be my- I mean our- big breakthrough.”

Jean looked towards his partner but only found a messy nest of brown hair and the back of Marco’s head.

“And so am I, eyes on the road,” Marco chastised. “I didn’t skip out on holidays with my family to join Jesus.”

A deadpan expression appeared on Jean’s face and his eyes fell a little. He glanced at the freckles on the back of Marco’s left hand for a moment until a horn from a passing car stirred him from his brief stupor.

“Shit!” Jean cursed as he rushed to correct his driving. He veered back onto his lane, just barely catching the exasperated sigh of his passenger.

“Told ya,” Marco chuckled, resting his elbow on the window sill. Squinting at the horizon, a black dot appeared on the mountainside silhouetted against the cloudy backdrop. “So what’s the story about this place? And not the terrible real estate pitch you just gave from whatever forums you found this on.”

Marco glanced back at Jean while he now focused on the road. And despite the sudden movement of the car, he remained relaxed and took in the sight of Jean’s face lighting up once more. His heart almost skipped a beat.

“Okay so get this. This place is ancient, technically speaking. I don’t know when it was built but it didn’t get its fame until about a hundred and four years ago when it was remodeled from a prison to a hotel.”

Shuddering at the thought, Marco frowned slightly.

“Prison and a hotel? Two haunted cliches for the price of one.”

Jean snorted at Marco’s quip, ignoring his friend’s teasing smirk on the edge of his vision.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up while you can. At least you’ll have a lot of great shots while we’re there.”

“True, but go on. Enlighten me about this spooky place,” Marco pressed Jean, waving his hands hands in the air to taunt Jean further.

“Well, smart ass, The Reiss’ renovated the building into a hotel right before the Roaring Twenties. And yes, before you ask, the same rich ass Reiss’ who gave you a full ride for your photography degree back in college. They made the prison into some Great Gatsby-looking hotel just in time for Prohibition. This place had everything from the lavish parties to the secret bars. If you were rich or had some power in Trost, you partied at this mountain resort.”

Jean gesticulated with one hand while he drove. He leaned forward in his seat while his eyes drifted towards the same dot on the horizon Marco noticed earlier. Licking his chapped lips, he continued.

“Anyways, this place ran pretty well for almost two decades. The Reiss’ got their fortune, people partied, time went on without care, etcetera, etcetera. But all good things eventually come to an end. So the family had a daughter with gorgeous blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and supposedly a nice rack-”

“Jean…” Marco groaned, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

“I know, not your cup of tea. The point is she was hot and the jewel of the town. Everyone wanted her. Well, despite daddy dearest’s best attempts, she rejected all his suitors. One night while he was going to chat with her, he heard giggling from her room. Her dad peeked through the keyhole and caught his daughter with another person in bed. Not only was it one of the hotel’s cleaning staff, it was also a girl!”

At that, Marco turned to give Jean his full attention.

“The gay ghosts are lesbians? Maybe this isn’t as cliched as I thought.”

Jean pressed an index finger to his lips.

“Shush, this is the good part.”

“Ok, tell me then.”

“So, her dad reacted about as positively as one might expect of an early twentieth century father and strangled the worker in a blind rage. Before he could confront his daughter, she ran out and threw herself over the railing onto the hotel lobby floor several flights below. Her life was long gone by the time the paramedics arrived. Her death caused a cascade of litigation against the family that eventually sunk the hotel and most of their businesses. I mean they eventually recovered but the hotel was abandoned and no one dared to buy it in the last thirty of forty years.”

Marco winced upon hearing the cause of death, looking back towards the hotel. The first few flakes of snow began to fall against the windshield.

“How wholesome…”

\---

By the time Jean pulled their van past a rickety fence with large rusty R’s emblazoned on them, snow covered most of the ground. The car kept traction as it rolled along the barely visible driveway that hugged a large but empty fountain. They drove past several abandoned vehicles from different eras that lined the right half of the road to the hotel. Jean had to go past the entrance due to the cars already parked by it.

Marco frowned as he took in the various makes and models, some more rusted than others.

“That’s a creepy welcoming committee,” Marco commented as the van came to a stop.

“I did mention they’ve had mysterious disappearances up here. Its too much of a hassle to get them off the mountain so they just got left here,” Jean explained, pulling up the emergency break. “Now let's get set-up before the sun goes down.”

Glancing at the building, goosebumps formed on Marco’s arms.

“Are you sure you want to do this? This place gives me the heebie jeebies.”

Marco pulled his jacket closer and zipped it up.

“Oh, is the non-believer scared of the big bad ghosts?” Jean smirked. His grin widened upon watching Marco glare daggers at him.

“Oh ha ha. Just cause I don’t think you’ll ever find anything doesn’t mean I don’t get creeped by things like that,” Marco replied, pointing at the building. “Ghosts are one thing, but multiple people disappearing and their cars being left here? That’s called a sign, Jean.”

Dismissing Marco’s concern with the wave of a hand, Jean unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

“I’m sure whoever posted that shit was just exaggerating. ‘Sides, if you don’t think we’ll ever find anything why do you tag along for my little adventures?” Jean wondered, half looking over his shoulder at his friend.

Marco pressed his lips shut while he exited the car. He used the few seconds away from Jean to calm the small storm of butterflies that fluttered in his belly. When Jean walked to his side of the vehicle, Marco had regained his composure.

“Like you said, great pictures that I won’t find anywhere else. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact we’ve been attached at the hip for how long now? Since middle school?”

Jean’s smirk faded for a second but it soon returned.

“Yeah, of course… Hey, I asked if you wanted to join me on this business venture!”

Jean opened the door to their plain white van, revealing the various tools strapped to the sides. Where a back row of seats would be found were instead boxes of digital equipment and cables.

“I did say yes, didn’t I?” Marco chuckled, remembering that conversation. A fond smile formed on his face. “Made for a good post-college career I think? Mom would’ve strung me up if anyone else asked me to do this and I accepted. Speaking of which, how is that engineering degree working out for ya?”

Jean snorted at that question. He set down two large blue boxes on the snow and reached for a red gas canister.

“Oh shut up. It's gotten some use.”

Now it was Marco’s turn to laugh loudly.

“Oh how freshman you would squirm knowing that my ‘useless degree’ is paying off more than yours,” Marco cackled, grabbing the two blue crates. He began the trek to the entrance of the hotel. “How the tables have turned.”

“Oh fuck off! How many times have I fixed your car and used my problem solving skills to get these places in working order?” Jean spat back. He pulled out a grey toolbox and slammed the sliding door shut. He picked up the gas canister and followed Marco’s footsteps in the snow.

“Touche, but I think that’s less a result of your degree and more a testament to your ability to read Wikipedia. And working order? I hardly call getting the power on working order.”

The two ascended the slick stone steps together. Marco kept his footing as they approached the large patio.

“If it means we can sleep with warmth then it's working.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Marco set down the boxes and turned the dull, rusted knob at the entrance. Much to his surprise, the large door creaked open. He used his foot to kick it as far as it’s hinges would allow and entered the old building with Jean right behind him.

The pair laid down their equipment and surveyed the room.

Like Jean promised, the pair entered a time capsule. White marble lined the floor with dark limestone spelling out a large R at the center of the room. Dust covered all surfaces, though countless cotton cloths were clung over the furniture long abandoned to the hotel. Dull and rusted brass decor adorned the faded golden walls, some in the shape of birds of prey and others in a more traditional style of the late 1920’s.

Marco took a few more tentative steps in, raising his hand and furrowing his brow.

“Uh, Jean? Do you feel that?” Marco inquired, turning back to see his partner smiling like a toddler at Christmas.

“Holy shit, the post didn’t lie! Yes!” Jean exclaimed, his voice echoing around the empty lobby. Seeing Marco’s puzzled expression, he clarified. “Oh uh, this place was supposedly built into a mountain hot spring. So they used the hot water for everything: baths, washing hands, and even heating this place. They used geothermal heating before it was cool. Do you know what that means?”

“One less thing for you to fix?”

“No! I mean yes, but more importantly: we get hot water! Imagine what the master suite must look like in this place!”

Marco slapped his palm against his forehead.

“Jean, this place hasn’t been cleaned in forever! I don’t even want to imagine what the state of everything is.”

Shaking his head, Jean continued until he reached the large, dark ‘R’ at the center of the room.

“I’m just saying. It was a long drive up here and once we get our tasks done we get to relax. Not every haunted place has such nice amenities.”

Marco gave Jean his best deadpan stare.

“Considering they don’t have amenities, that’s a low bar.”

Despite his misgivings, Marco left the blue boxes and stared upwards. Several floors stretched towards a vaulted ceiling. He couldn’t help but whistle at the old but impressive architecture.

“See? I knew you’d like it.”

Glancing down, Marco saw the shiteating-grin on Jean’s face. He opened his mouth to sass him but his words died in his throat. The excitement and joy that radiated off his childhood friend left Marco breathless until he caught Jean quirking an eyebrow. He really wished he had his camera on him to capture that moment.

“Y-yeah. I’m sure I can get a lot of good shots,” Marco finally stated, clearing his throat. “I’ll set-up the video cameras in some corridors and down here before I go on my own photo hunt.”

“Good,” Jean nodded. His eyes scanned the room before settling on a door in the corner. “Make sure you set some up in the lobby facing this spot as well as on the list of rooms I texted you earlier. The important one is room 504. That’s Historia’s room. Historia Reiss.”

“Uh-huh. Gotcha. Now be a good boy and get the power running. It’s gonna get dark soon and I don’t know the last time you changed the batteries in the flashlights.”

Marco missed the blush that rose on Jean’s face while he took in his surroundings. He was already mentally marking spots for the tripods and the other gear.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jean replied, his voice an octave or two higher than usual.

\---

Twisting the lock into place, Marco leaned over the tripod to check the camcorder’s view. Though shaded in green, the entire ballroom floor appeared on screen.

“Good,” Marco spoke to himself. He straightened himself back up and stretched his arms over his head. A content sigh escaped his throat as his bones popped. Walking back out to the hallway, he readjusted his headlight to keep the dusty path in sight.

“How’s it going, Marco?” Jean’s voice crackled from his side.

“Oh good lord!” Marco shouted, recoiling away from the sound and hitting the doorframe.

The force of the impact dropped some dust from the ceiling onto the freckled ghost hunter.

“I heard that,” Jean’s voice informed him, laughter following soon after.

Marco pulled a walkie talkie from his belt.

“Asshole! GIve a man some warning!” Marco shouted into it.

Jean’s distant howling laughter echoed off the ancient walls of the hotel.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“The fun where I don’t accidentally fling myself over the banister like that one chick,” Marco spoke, his anger starting to fade.

“Historia.”

“Gesundheit.”

“Smartass. That’s her name.”

“Oh yeah, her. How’s the electricity coming along?”

A quiet pause turned into an extended silence while Marco held the walkie talkie next to his ear..

He walked over to the railing and stared into the lobby below while he waited for Jean’s reply.

“Fuck!” Jean’s muffled voice reached Marco’s ears, causing him to quirk an eyebrow. Before he could ask his question, the dull yellow lights of the building flickered back on.

The dim lights glowed throughout the various floors and gave the hotel an atmosphere of long forgotten ambience and presence.

“You okay down there?” Marco asked over the walkie talkie. “The power is working.”

“Good,” Jean’s voice curty replied, followed by an audible spitting. “Ew that's disgusting. I had to find some parts to replace the rusted out ones in the generator. When I flicked it on something shot what I hope was some oil or grease on my face. Tastes like your cooking…”

“Hey!”

Marco ignored the snickering coming across the radio as he grabbed the blue box and walked towards the stairs.

“I’m definitely gonna need to clean up tonight. How are the cameras coming along?”

“Just gotta set-up the one in the top floor and I’m done.”

“Perfect. I’ll unload our stuff into the master suite so we can relax at sunset when all the ghosties come out. I hope that bath is working. Oh, I found some wine down here. From Jinae.”

Jean’s words brought a tiny smile to Marco’s face. He paused on the stairs to reply.

“So I get a taste of home tonight? Maybe it won’t be a waste of a New Year’s.”

“Aged for the last sixty years apparently. It’s almost as old as you.”

“Hardee har har,” Marco rolled his eyes, picking up the blue box and continuing his journey. “Go get our stuff. I’m setting this up and I’m gonna go get some photos before golden hour is up. I got a few cool shots in mind.”

“Go ahead. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Nodding at no one in particular, Marco reached the top of the stairs and carried his equipment down the hall. Unlike the other floors only a few doors lined this part of the hotel. He passed by three rooms before he found the infamous 504 door. Gold numbers decorated the white wood. When he reached for the handle he noticed the door was already cracked.

“Huh? Weird.”

The door creaked open to reveal an already lit room. A pristine white sheet covered the bed, laden with fluffy throw pillows and golden thread trim. The two center throw pillows had the letters ‘H’ and ‘R’ embroidered in cursive on them.

“Wealthy indeed,” Marco commented as he set his nearly empty blue crate by the door.

His eyes scanned the rest of the room, taking in the furniture and accessories of a bygone era. Once he was done admiring the quality of the room, he grabbed a camera and went towards one corner of the room. He took one step before he heard a metallic clanging.

Jumping back, Marco glanced down to see a metal rod coming to a rest near the edge of the bed.

“The hell?”

Marco tilted his head while glancing at the floor of the room. His eyes widened upon seeing not only another metal rod near his foot, but also other discarded objects. He set his camera down to investigate the new stuff. While he couldn’t make sense of most of the objects he definitely recognized a disposable camera and even an old digital camera collecting dust.

Unclipping the walkie from his belt, Marco paged his friend.

“Uh, Jean? I’ve found some weird shit in Historia’s room.”

After a few seconds, Jean’s voice crackled back.

“Dildos in the early twentieth-”

“Its not sex toys, Jean!” Marco interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m talking like old cameras and stuff. I could probably salvage the memory card off the digital camera but I don’t have the tech to view what’s on it.”

“A digital camera? You probably found equipment from the other ghost hunters that came through here.”

Marco’s face fell.

“Others? And they just left their stuff lying around? The hell, Jean?!”

Dropping the equipment back on the ground, Marco returned to the task at hand and went for the corner.

“I already told ya, people have disappeared here. Also what the hell did you put in your backpack? It’s heavy as shit.”

“New camera, don’t drop it or that’s coming out of your pocket.”

“I got it, I got it. It’ll be in room 500 with me. See you soon.”

Rolling his eyes, Marco returned to the room at hand. A chill ran down his spine as he took in the other old equipment on the dusty floor. His reservations sat like a rock in stomach while he set-up the last camera.

\---

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Marco!” Jean shouted. Jean peered around the bathroom of the master suite. Despite being abandoned, it was relatively clean and none of the golden adornments were too rusted. The best part was the steaming water currently pouring from the faucet. Jean took a clean towel and ran it under the hot water.

Out in the bedroom, Marco finagled with the lens for his camera.

“I don’t want to be missing by the end of this,” he quipped back.

Jean vigorously scrubbed his face with the fluffy towel until the grime from the generator washed off.

“Oh give it a break, we’ll be fine. It’s not every day you get to spend New Year’s in a fancy haunted hotel.”

Even Jean could hear Marco’s scoff over the running water.

“I’m sure Hitch would’ve loved to do that with you.”

Jean’s face soured at the mention of Hitch.

“I’m sure she would if we were still dating.”

Marco paused prepping his camera. He stared straight ahead at a tan wall while his heart skipped a beat.

“You’re single again? Since when?”

Jean grimaced at the question.

“Uhhh, since we broke up two weeks ago.”

Marco turned to face the bathroom, catching Jean’s silhouette through the cracked door.

“So she dumped you?”

Straightening up, Jean yelled over his shoulder.

“She didn’t dump me, it was mutual!”

“She dumped you,” Marco replied, shaking his head. The lens clicked in place and Marco brought the strap over his neck. “If it makes you feel any better Marlo was also a bust.”

That brought a bittersweet smile to Jean’s face.

“I knew that was over when you told me his name was Marlo. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna date someone with a name so close to yours.”

Wrinkling his nose at that, Marco nodded.

“Yeah, but I tried to overlook it. Couldn’t overlook him shouting the wrong name in bed. Twice.”

Jean winced at that, setting the towel down. He looked over at the giant tub.

“Well, feel free to join me in here and we can chat if you want. There’s so much space in here it's ridiculous.”

Marco’s face immediately flushed at the invitation.

“N-no I’m good! I don’t need to reminisce about that.”

He quickly stood up and pocketed his cell phone. He turned off his headlight and looked at Jean’s backpack on the bed.

Jean chuckled at Marco’s sputtering.

“I was kidding, you dolt. I mean I’m serious if you wanna talk things through because that's what best friends do. I gotta grab some supplies from the van and then I’ll join you”

Jean’s deflection stead Marco’s pounding heart. He opened the backpack to find a variety of gear and numerous ghost hunting stuff he didn’t quite understand. The one object he recognized and pulled out.

“Sounds good. Heads up, I’m taking the cross with me. I might not believe this shit but I’m not tempting fate.”

At that, Jean laughed out loud.

\---

Pressing himself against the wall, Marco bent down and levelled his camera. His camera clicked several times as he captured the ground floor hallway.

Paint peeled off the walls, flaking onto the puke green carpet below it while the sickly yellow lights illuminated the cramped space. All the doors with white trim remained closed. While Marco could identify his footprints in the dust, he knew they wouldn’t be all too visible in the pictures.

As Marco leaned back up, he felt a cold gust against his left side. He turned to see another white door, long since cracked and flaking like the hallway, slightly ajar. Tilting his head to the side, Marco pulled it open. A loud squeak echoed down the hall as this new room presented itself. A cold breeze blew by when he entered.

Sunlight trickled through cracked glass and over old shelves. It provided a pale glow to the cozy room.

Marco shuffled along the walls of the tiny study.

A large bay window provided the ambient light to the room, clashing with the dim electrical light of the brass light fixture at the center of the room. Both beams of light met over a sprawling, dark wooden desk. Designs were etched into the side of the furniture but the dust hid most of the details. A broken chair laid shattered behind the desk, but a metal folding one was propped against it.

Marco took a spot in the corner and adjusted his lens. He snapped a few quick shots, glancing at his pictures before adjusting some settings on his camera. He took a few more before stepping to another corner to get a different angle.

When Marco moved around the desk, a dark spot against the dusty floor drew his attention.

“Oh, what do we have here?”

Marco restrained himself from approaching the seemingly discarded object until he snapped a few more photos. Content with his work, he disturbed the dust on the ground when he finally grabbed it.

“A book?” Marco commented to no one as he slung his camera around his neck.

His fingers brushed against hardened leather, cracked from exposure to the elements in the room. He flipped it over to find a pair of golden R’s emblazoned on the latch that held the book shut.

Prodding it a bit, the latch eventually clicked open.

“Now what are you?” Marco wondered as he flipped through a few pages. “Lets see… old dates, cursive, and what is that signature. ‘R Reiss’?”

While Marco thumbed through the newly discovered book, he didn’t pay attention as a shadow danced along the wall. He continued to skim as the shadow grew closer.

“Probably Rod Reiss,” A voice stated loudly, right next to Marco’s ear.

“Oh Jesus!” Marco shouted, dropping the book and spinning on his heels. He clutched at the crucifix hanging underneath his camera. His hip slammed into the edge of the desk while his other hand went to catch himself on the furniture. “Ouch!”

Jean doubled over from laughter, clutching at his sides.

“Th-that’s not how you use that!” Jean spoke between wheezes, wiping a tear away from his eyes.

Marco mustered his iciest glare and grit his teeth.

“Not funny! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Marco complained, letting go of the cross in favor of grabbing his chest.

“That was definitely hilarious,” Jean teased, smirking at Marco’s exasperation. He continued to chuckle while he reached for the fallen book. “If you’re gonna ward off anything with the crucifix you’re gonna have to throw it at the floor between you and the ghost. Clutching it like your mom’s pearls won’t help with anything.”

“Oh shut up,” Marco spat back, taking a deep breath. He let out his frustrations with a loud sigh.

Ignoring Marco’s frustration, Jean flipped through the pages.

“Congrats, you managed to find Rod Reiss’s personal journal. He was Historia’s father,” Jean explained matter of factly.

Rubbing his hip, Marco frowned.

“Yay?”

Jean hummed dismissively as he got caught in the pages.

“Looks like he wrote a lot fo shit down in here. Money problems, general frustrations at being a father, and of course, lots of doting on his favorite daughter.”

“Historia?” Marco guessed, placing a cap on the lens of his camera.

“Bingo. Apparently she was daddy’s little angel.”

“That’s all well and good but I got more pictures to take.”

Marco began to walk to the door with Jean following, nose pressed almost into the book.

“Sounds good, I wanna follow and see what readings I can find.”

Marco rolled his eyes.

“I thought you did that before sneaking up on me. Or is the big, bad ghost hunter too afraid to walk around by himself?” Marco teased, causing Jean to glance at him momentarily.

“You have my crucifix,” Jean replied matter-of-factly. He pulled the book a bit higher to hide the pink coloring his cheeks. “But yes, I already visited the hotspots to do my thing anyways.”

“Uh-huh,” Marco giggled. “Well I want to get the ballroom since we don’t see that everyday.”

Jean dismissively waved his hand at Marco.

“Go ahead, I’ll catch up in a sec.”

Marco’s shoulders slumped at the gesture. A chill ran down his spine but Jean didn’t look up from his book.

“O-okay. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Marco picked up the pace and climbed the stairs to the third floor. He stopped to get a picture of the lobby from above, centering his camera on the giant R below. As soon as he snapped his camera, a flash of white crossed his vision. Pulling back for the camera, he leaned over the railing and looked down.

There was nothing on the floor below.

Shrugging it off, Marco continued his journey to the ballroom. He made it all of three steps into the room before he felt his foot sink in what felt like soft sand.

“What the- Jean!” Marco shouted, lifting his foot. A white, chalky mess clung to the soles of his shoes. “Why didn’t you tell me you already laid down the salt?”

“Huh? I thought you knew,” Jean’s voice echoed back from the lobby. Soon some laughter rose through the empty hotel. “I’m guessing you didn’t know.”

“Now I do,” Marco shouted back, shaking his head.

Marco wiped his foot on the carpet in a feeble attempt to clean it.

“Careful, you’re gonna ruin any footprints the ghosts are gonna leave!”

“Anything by the door is probably me,” Marco retorted, peering around the room. He quickly approached the camera he set-up earlier and positioned himself over it. He shifted his weight so his camera bag fell forward. His eyes fell to the bag while he worked to swap out lenses.

While Marco was busy fiddling with his camera, a soft crunch echoed from another corner. Despite the noise, Marco did not look up.

The next few minutes went by quietly as Marco walked around for the various angles, capturing dusty tables with wilted flowers in vases and disheveled cutlery. As he took his shots, he kept an eye out on the door. He only let his guard down once he saw Jean walk in with the book still open, avoiding the salt pile from earlier with practiced ease.

While Jean was focused on the journal, Marco took a moment to zoom in and snap a shot.

Jean walked over to a table and pulled a chair out, sitting down as he reached the last page.

Marco reviewed the latest picture, smiling fondly at it.

He caught Jean furrowing his brow, face tilted towards the book. He pressed his lips into a flat line while he read the page intently. Jean’s eyes almost glowed in the ambient lighting.

“Damn,” Jean spoke almost quietly, closing the book with a soft thud that blew dust away from its tattered pages. The small cloud hit his face and caused him to sneeze. Shaking his head, Jean looked over to Marco with a somber look on his face. “I think I just read the last thing Rod Reiss wrote before his death.”

Marco quirked an eyebrow at that.

“Really? What makes you say that?”

Standing up, Jean left the book on the table.

“Cause the last page is his suicide note,” Jean explained, shivering.

Marco frowned at that.

“Dark.”

Jean reached into his pocket and pulled out a smaller flashlight, turning it on. He also reached for a remote on his belt with five small light bulbs sticking out of it.

“Yeah. Despite what happened, he really liked Historia. Though I don’t agree with his way of redeeming himself.” Jean sighed, turning on his flashlight. A faint purple beam came out of it. “The hotel operated for a few years after what happened. However, Rod spent all that time thinking of his daughter. When he finally couldn’t take it he figured the only way to make it up to her was to go out the same way she did. I’m guessing the family left this place alone after all of that settled.”

Marco’s blood ran cold at that, glancing back towards the entrance to the hotel lobby.

“This place gets creepier every minute, I swear.”

A soft buzz drew Marco’s attention back to Jean.

Jean, however, had a wide grin on his face.

“I knew it! EMF activity!” Jean declared, pointing the light around the floor. “Maybe they left footprints or handprints!”

Rolling his eyes, Marco walked towards Jean.

“You said that last time that thing went off. And what did we find? A broken microwave.”

“Hush, non-believer,” Jean replied, raising the hand with the beeping device. Only two out of the five light bulbs currently glowed. His eyes narrowed onto the ground. He waved the flashlight in circles. “Aha! Wait. Marco quit moving! Your footprints are fucking with my search!”

Jean’s light came to rest on the few footsteps that walked from the first salt pile to the corner of the room.

Marco froze in place, giving Jean a deadpan stare. Despite the excitement on Jean’s face that brought the butterflies back to Marco’s stomach, the desire to throttle his childhood friend also reared its head.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s alright, I forgive you,” Jean said as he continued to look around for any other evidence. He heard the faint slap of Marco’s palm against his forehead. Instead, he caught another glow from a distant salt pile. “Wait, I got something else.”

Marco stayed in place while Jean kept his flashlight pointed at the ground. The salt pile glowed under the purple light. Jean clipped the EMF Reader to his belt, squatting over the pile. He scratched the back of his head as he inspected it.

“Hey, Marco. Come here,” Jean called over.

“Oh, now I’m allowed to move?” Marco quipped back, crossing the room at Jean’s request.

“Oh shut up. What doesn’t this look like to you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a footprint or handprint like this.”

Jean pointed to the salt pile with the end of his flashlight, briefly blinding Marco.

Once the spots left his vision, Marco leaned over Jean.

The salt in the pile was pushed away to reveal two small craters at the end of a longer cylindrical one with a blunt end.

“You sure that’s a footprint or handprint?” Marco wondered.

“A two-toed apparition? Can’t be a wraith as they usually float. Ghosts are still rather humanoid so that’s out of the question. Perhaps a mare or yokai? I believe mares are more cloven in shape…”

While Jean scratched his chin, Marco tilted his head and frowned.

“Kind of looks like a dick.”

Jean’s head whipped around so fast he almost hit Marco’s crotch.

“Excuse me?!” Jean spoke, his voice an octave higher.

Ignoring Jean’s wide-eyed stare, Marco pointed at it.

“Yeah. Those are balls and a shaft. See?”

Rather than glance down at the salt pile, Jean only continued to stare at Marco in disbelief. His face grew crimson.

“Did… did you mushroom stamp my salt?”

Marco’s smile slowly fell as he processed the question. He went slack-jawed at the accusation.

“What? No! Why would you- of course not!”

Jean glanced down at the salt but his eyes bounced up to Marco’s crotch. Leaning closer to Marco, he squinted at his pants.

As Jean gfrew closer, the shade of red on Marco’s face deepend. Covering his crotch with his hands, Marco stumbled backwards.

“I… I mean I don’t see any salt on you but I’d have to check your- ugh.”

Jean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That is not my dick, Jean! I’m not that small,” Marco spoke quicker than his brain could process, waving his hands in front of chest.

Jean pressed his lips together and his face grew darker than Marco’s.

“That’s not what I was asking! I mean- no-”

Jean hid his face behind his hands while he let out a strangled noise.

The pair avoided eye contact while an awkward silence fell over them.

Marco’s gaze fell to the floor where it followed the purple light of Jean’s flashlight. His embarrassment momentarily left him when he saw a handprint a few feet away from the salt pile. Quirking an eyebrow, he pulled his camera up and zoomed in on it.

The sound of the camera clicking drew Jean’s attention upwards and then towards the direction Marco was facing.

“What did you find?” Jean asked, his voice quiet but lined with curiosity.

“I think I found a hand print. Can you shine your light and put hand next to it? Give it some scale.” Marco requested.

Jean tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the handprint glowing on the ground. Hesitantly he followed Marco’s direction. While Marco snapped a few shots he noticed how much smaller it was compared to his own hand.

“This isn’t yours?”

“No,” Marco confirmed, pulling back from the camera. “Maybe it's older print but it's not mine.”

Marco offered his hand to Jean, who took it. He pulled his friend to his feet.

Instead of letting go, Jean gingerly grabbed Marco’s wrist. He held Marco’s hand out and put his other into it, confirming what he already knew. Marco’s hands were ever so slightly bigger than his own.

Marco stood there, frozen. He felt his heart pounding as Jean stared dumbly at their joined hands.

“If it’s not yours or mine…” Jean’s voice trailed off, his brow furrowing as he considered the thought. When realization dawned on him, his face lit up. “Marco, we found proof!”

Jean pulled his hand away only to throw his arms around his friend and embrace him.

Marco straightened up as the blood drained from his face and went further south. Mercifully Jean pulled away before he could notice Marco’s growing problem.

Jean began to sweep the nearby floor for more prints, and was happy to find more handprints and even some footprints.

While Jean scoured the floor, Marco remembered his profession and resumed photographing. He couldn’t help himself when he adjusted the angle to catch Jean’s face. The way Jean’s eyes crinkled from the smile that split his face from ear to ear brought a similar expression to Marco.

Marco only stirred from his stupor when he felt goosebumps go down his arm. He glanced around quickly but didn’t spy anything out of the ordinary.

“Weird,” Marco quipped.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jean agreed, still following the prints on the ground. “Whatever made these crawled over to the wall. Certainly not a wraith because those fuckers fly. Usually.”

Marco shuddered at his commentary but walked over to his friend.

Jean moved his flashlight upwards and his face almost fell immediately.

“What the fuck. Marco, I swear to God if you’re pulling my leg I’m going to murder you.”

Jean glared over his shoulder as his joy seemingly evaporated.

“What did I do this time?” Marco stepped closer and saw the glowing spot on the wall. Even his jaw dropped. “I called it, holy shit.”

On the wall, the outline of dick glowed against the chipped green paint.

Jean’s eyes fell back to Marco’s crotch, and he brought his flashlight over it.

Once Marco realized what his friend was doing he instinctively covered himself again.

“Drop ‘em,” Jean all but ordered, crossing his arms as a blush slowly crept up his neck.

“What?!” Marco balked, the color draining from his face.

“Drop your pants. I need to see if there’s any salt on you. If you’re gonna go this far to prank me I’m going to call you on it.”

Taking a step back, Marco shook his head.

“No way! I wouldn’t do something like this, I promise!”

Jean’s gaze fell to Marco’s crotch and then flicked back up almost immediately.

“I don’t like this anymore than you. But I gotta be sure.”

A look of betrayal flashed across Marco’s face.

“If you want to see my dick there are less elaborate ways to do it, Jean,” Marco spat back, causing Jean to straighten up.

“Wh-what? What are you talking about?!”

“You heard me! How do I know you aren’t behind this? I literally got to the room a few minutes before you did. Do you really think I had the time to slap my dick all over the wall before you got here? Drop your pants to prove you didn’t do it!”

Jean blanched at having his own request pushed back on him.

“I-I-I wouldn't do something like this!” Jean denied, his voice cracking halfway through.

Marco crossed his arms over his chest.

“And neither would I. Either we both drop them or neither of us do.”

Jean raised a hand but no voice escaped him.

“Fine.”

Jean turned his back to Marco and returned to staring at the wall. When he made no motion for his pants Marco stepped alongside him to stare at the dick print.

Marco brought out his camera up, pausing when he caught the faint outline of something else.

“Jean, move the light up.”

Jean’s eyes glanced upward to see a faint white line above everything. As he moved the light along the line he felt a cold touch on the small of his back.

“Gah, Marco!” Jean shouted, turning to face his friend. His accusation died in his throat when he saw both of his hands on the camera.

“What?” Marco asked, furrowing his brow.

“Nothing. Just nothing.”

Jean returned to tracing the line with his light, though he now stood closer to Marco.

“What the heck is this?” Marco wondered as Jean moved the light. The white line ran the length of the wall before curving up towards one end. A few other lines met in between.

“Jesus Christ,” Jean spoke, irritation in his tone. “I know what it is.”

He walked past Marco towards the other end of the wall, angling his flashlight so it hit most of the wall.

Marco’s jaw dropped as it illuminated the full image.

“I don’t know if I should be scared or impressed,” Marco admitted as he took in the image.

“I swear Marco, did you draw a wall-sized dick with my salt?” Jean asked again, keeping his voice level. He wanted to be more irritated but even he was beginning to doubt his own accusations.

“Jean Kirschtein, what have I said this entire time? This isn’t my handiwork! You'd know if it was me anyways. We both know this looks more like your dong doodles than mine. You’re the one who embellished them like this.”

Despite the ongoing argument, Marco still took a picture of the massive picture.

“Embellished?” Jean gaped back, going wide-eyed.

“Yeah. You spent so much time adding on the veins and stuff. Honestly, I think you put more effort into those pictures than Mr. Shadis’s class.”

“I- okay, to be fair him teaching math was really fucking boring. Secondly, I did not do this.”

“Whatever,” Marco sighed, rolling his eyes. Leveling the camera again, he focused on the next shot.

Jean wanted to be offended but even he saw Marco’s point. Just as he began to look at the picture he noticed a slight breeze behind Marco. Before he could say anything he watched as Marco’s pants suddenly fell to his thighs.

“M-M-Marco…”

Marco felt a cold breeze between his legs as he heard Jean began to sputter. He looked over to Jean to see him gawking again at his crotch.

Jean gazed at Marco’s cock, now exposed to the open air. He stood half-hard despite the circumstances.

Before Marco could cover himself, Jean flashed his light over Marco's dick.

“Huh? What the- Jean?!”

“No trace of salt…”

As Marco’s blush deepened, a chill ran down his spine. An icy presence stood behind him.

“Boo,” a voice whispered, causing Marco to jump forward.

“Gah!” Marco yelled.

Jean heard a loud beeping from his belt and his face paled.

“Marco, they’re here! The ghosts are here!”

“You don’t say?!”

“Run!”

As the two began to bolt, a pair of figures appeared in the center of the room. One was a young girl near their age with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other was a boy close in age. However, he had a shaved haircut. Both were laughing like maniacs yet no sound escaped them.

Jean ran to the entrance of the room, quickly flipping his backpack around. He reached into out of his side pockets and pulled out a can of iodized salt. He pulled the cap off and began to lay a line at the entrance of the room.

Marco tried to escape with his pants still around his thighs. He managed to waddle out of the room with his cock flopping about, his fear outweighing his embarrassment.

“What are you doing?” Marco asked as he crossed over the threshold, grabbing Jean by the shoulder.

“What does it look like? I’m putting salt down. They can’t cross it if they’re dead!”

The two ghosts inside the room stopped laughing upon hearing that. They simply stared at the pair with amused looks on their faces.

“Oh. Good,” Marco sighed, wiping some sweat from the back of his head while his nerves tried to calm.

Jean turned around to face Marco but his eyes immediately fell to Marco’s cock. He licked his lips and tried to burn the image in his mind before taking a deep breath and looking straight up.

“Uh, Marco? Your dick is still out…”

“Huh? Oh shit!” Marco quickly went for the hem of his pants and pulled them up in a swift motion. He turned around, away from Jean, and readjusted himself as he buttoned up.

While Marco took care of that, Jean turned back to the room. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he observed the ghosts in the room who slowly approached the door. A smile found its way onto Jean’s face once more, despite the mixed emotions running through his head.

The male ghost stopped by the salt pile Marco had stepped in and observed it.

“This is amazing. I can’t believe it. Real life ghosts, Marco! We did-”

Jean began to celebrate until a handful of salt hit him in the face. A white dust cloud coated him.

“Ah- pft!” Jean coughed as he backed away, stepping in front of Marco as he finished finagling with his pants.

“Jean?” Marco inquired turning around to see the two ghosts by the ballroom entrance, still laughing though their voices couldn’t be heard. “Ah!”

“Let’s go upstairs,” Jean stated, trying to run the salt out of his eyes. “I gotta clean this shit off.”

\---

Marco leaned against the wall, groaning.

“Jean, we can clean up back in town. Let’s go home, please,” Marco pleaded, a hand clutching the crucifix around his neck.

“No way! Think of all the proof we can get here,” Jean’s voice came from the bathroom. “Go out and get some more pictures. I’ll freshen up and put down some shit to protect us. We’re fine.”

“Jean!”

“Marco.” 

Hitting his head against the wall, Marco sighed.

“Can you really protect this room?”

A soft chuckle came from the bathroom.

“Oh ye of little faith, of course I can. I learned from the best.”

Inside the bathroom, Jean stripped out of his dirty clothes.

“Youtube doesn’t count, Jean.”

“I learned from Professor Zoe, you ass,” Jean chuckled, rolling his eyes. He reached for a half empty wine glass near the sink.

“Didn’t they almost get their tenure revoked for some creepy shit?” Marco reminisced, his eyes glancing towards the ceiling as he tried to remember.

“That was a misunderstanding with the dean,” Jean clarified.

Staring at the mirror, Jean frowned at himself. He took in his bare torso where the slightest bit of muscle definition appeared. Downing the rest of his glass, he set it down with a clank. “Speaking of which, I owe you an apology.”

“Huh?” Marco asked, glancing toward the bathroom. Next to the door sat an untouched glass of wine. Shaking his head, Marco slid down the wall and picked up the glass. “For what?”

Taking a deep breath, Jean’s face turned red. He walked over to the bath to see the tub half full of steaming hot water.

“For thinking you were pranking me.”

The glass barely touched Marco’s lips before he yanked it back.

“Why would you think I did that?” Marco groaned,covering his eyes with his hand. He took a sip of the Jinae wine.

“Really? You’re the guy who decorated a Christmas tree with dildos that one year. You tell me why,” Jean reminded Marco, his voice muffled by the cracked open bathroom door.

“That was a joke!”

Marco dropped his hands to his side and clenched his fist, the freckles on his face now hidden by his blush.

“Just like this whole trip apparently,” Jean rolled his eyes, slowly shaking his head. Letting out another sigh, he continued. “At least that was a great way to come out to your mom.”

Marco squinted at the door upon hearing those words.

“Come out? I think you’re forgetting the part where _someone_ sent that picture to my siblings and that snowballed.”

Jean averted his gaze in the foggy mirror, scratching the back of his head. He found a very interesting section of cracked tile on the ceiling.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh huh. And yet, despite your best attempts, I somehow consider you my best friend.”

Marco smiled fondly at the thought, taking another swig of wine. Even though saying that out loud tugged at his heart strings, part of him did feel content despite yearning for more.

“And now I’ve seen your cock. Nice by the way.”

Jean stated before his mouth caught up to his mind, causing him to slap a hand over his mouth. His blood ran cold at the admission.

“Excuse me?!” Marco replied, disbelief in his tone. He stared wide-eyed at the bathroom door.

“I mean… ugh, there’s no taking that back. You got a good dick, what can I say?” Jean continued. He glared at the treacherous half empty wine bottle, reaching for it. He poured himself another glass. The bottle trembled along with his hand as he refilled his drink.

“Did- did you compliment my… What?”

Marco slowly stood back-up as his stomach fluttered up a storm.

“I’m allowed to appreciate a good dick.”

Marco scoffed at the thought.

“That’s the least straight thing you’ve said in a long time.”

A sharp inhale of breath reached Marco’s ears but he realized it wasn’t his own.

“I was going to say this later but, fine. You showed me your… you know. It’s only fair you learn something private from me.”

Marco felt a chill go down his spine at those words.

“Th-that’s not how this works, Jean.”

Downing a mouthful of wine, Jean steadied his nerves. A light buzz overtook his body.

“Maybe not but you should be the first to know,” Jean continued, one hand gripping the counter. “I don’t think I’m as straight as everyone thinks.”

Marco almost dropped his wine upon hearing those words.

“Jean?”

“I’m still figuring it out and I’ve been looking at stuff to help me figure out.”

Marco leaned against the wall, trying to process that. Suddenly he felt like he was a freshman again, speechless as he stared at his best friend who changed so beautifully over the summer after middle school.

And despite his shock at the news, he couldn’t help the words that fell out of his mouth.

“Like my dick?”

Marco heard Jean spit his wine all over the mirror.

“Marco!”

“Jean.”

Covering his mouth, Marco tried to suppress the giggles that threatened to overtake him.

“Today really is a day of miracles,” Marco snorted.

“Oh shut up!”

Jean stared at the mess in the mirror, his face almost as red as the wine. He grabbed the hand towel and started to wipe up the mess. He cleaned up some of the mist alongside the wine.

“In all seriousness, thanks for telling me. I promise I won’t out you like you did me.”

“Marco…”

“But we can talk about it later. Get cleaned up and protect this room. I’m going to get the camera from Historia’s room. Maybe we caught some other stuff on film. Be back soon.”

“Sounds good!” Jean replied too fast for his own liking.

Smiling fondly at himself, Marco walked towards the door. He palmed the crucifix on his neck.

In the bathroom, Jean finally exhaled once he heard the door shut outside. He pressed a hand to his still beating heart.

“So close. Just close the deal, you idiot,” Jean murmured to himself. He set his glass down and stared at the steamy mirror. “Start the new year off right. No more pussyfooting.”

The sound of the bathroom door creaking caused Jean to straighten up. In the mirror he saw the shadow of a figure approach him from behind.

“M-M-Marco? I thought you went to get the camera,” Jean chuckled nervously.

As the figure grew closer, he saw freckled shoulders approach him from behind. Jean’s body covered most of the figure’s but he saw enough details to know the figure was naked. Jean tilted his head up so he could avoid seeing Marco’s naked body once more.

Jean clenched his fists as he felt a cold breath on his neck. Cool hands ran over his body, causing him to flinch a bit but he tried to relax into it.

“Making the first move? You’re braver than I thought. Braver than me…” Jean admitted.

One hand slid along Jean’s torso, brushing against his nipples. Jean bit his tongue in a vain attempt to muffle a moan as the cold touch countered the heat of his body and the bathroom. Marco’s other hand left a trail of goosebumps as it trailed down his side and along his pelvis. Shaking under the touch, Jean did his best to not buckle as the hand came to rest over his crotch.

The fluffy towel provided little protection as the hand cupped him. The other hand reached up and lightly grasped at his throat.

“Fuck, that feel good, Marco,” Jean admitted, still trying to relax into the icy touch. He leaned back against Marco’s body, but winced at the frigid temperature. “Ouch, how are you an icebox?”

Jean glanced in the steamy mirror, but was unable to see through it. However, when he tried to lean back again he felt something almost as chilling as the figure’s touch.

Two cold bumps pressed against his shoulderblades.

“Y-Y-You’re not Marco,” Jean realized as his face paled. As he spoke, he heard the door to the bathroom slam open. He reached for the mirror and swiped away the steam.

Staring back at him was indeed another freckled person, but not the boy he expected. A freckled girl with a frilly headband smiled wickedly at him.

While Jean didn’t have much time to make out the details on her, he did notice a purple collar of bruises around her neck.

However, it was what behind her that also drew his attention. A hulking black figure stood in the doorway, drawing the attention of the freckled girl.

“Time to go,” she whispered to Jean, sending a chill down his spine.

“Marco!” Jean shouted, as he was dragged backwards towards the tub. His towel fell to the tiled floor.

Jean and the figure fell over the edge with a loud splash, soaking the floor.

The hulking figure at the door stared at the mess for only a moment before turning around with a loud groan.

\---

Marco hummed a tune to himself as he walked down the hallway, ignoring the dull lights as they flashed for a moment. He made his way to room 504 with a fond smile on his face. Even though a part of him reminded him that his changes were slim, a bigger part shouted at him there was now a non-zero chance that he could admit his oldest crush to Jean.

As Marco opened the door, he took in the creepy room.

The lights still illuminated everything but the discarded equipment on the ground still left a sour taste in his mouth.

He walked to a corner of the room away from the camera to try and snap a shot of the room. He only took one photo before his eyes spotted something in the corner looming over his video camera. The blood in Marco’s veins froze upon seeing a figure inspecting it.

The figure had shoulder length blond hair that draped over her white dress. Her outfit reached her knees and framed her petite body quite well. The only signs of wealth were two jewel encrusted pins on the shoulders that held two sets of straps in place. She also wore a pearl-white belt around her waist. However, she was missing her shoes.

Marco pressed himself against the wall as he held his breath.

“Technology is a fascinating thing, isn’t it? Moving pictures was such a new thing when I was young but it's come so far. I can see that horrified look on your face so clearly from here,” the ghost spoke, amusement in her voice.

She turned to reveal a young face. While she wore a tiny smile but the dull and disinterested look in her eyes betrayed her true emotion.

“Wh-who are you?” Marco stuttered, causing the ghost to roll her eyes.

“Another intruder in my room and he doesn’t have the slightest who I am? I should be offended.”

Marco’s eyes widened at her words.

“You’re Historia?”

The girl’s smile grew ever so slightly.

“Oh so you do know who I am. Who do I have the displeasure of meeting in my private quarters?”

Marco felt a lump form in his throat, unable to form words.

As the silence drew on, Historia sighed.

“A coward then. Tell me, why have you journeyed here?” Historia wondered, any trace of mirth in her voice now gone. She walked alongside the wall opposite of Marco. As she did so, she paused next to various framed pictures that Marco didn’t notice before. “Are you a thrillseeker? No, I’ve already established you’re a coward. Perhaps a treasure hunter looking for my family’s lost wealth. Or are you a delinquent looking to trash this prison? Maybe you’re one of those so-called spirit hunters? Well, out with it!”

As Historia interrogated Marco, she glanced at various portraits behind her. At the mention of thrillseeker she gazed at a photograph with a brunette girl, hair pulled back into a ponytail. The poor girl looked absolutely frightened. She had an air of familiarity that Marco couldn’t place.

When Historia asked about treasure hunters, she gestured to three photos. One was a girl of asian descent with a red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She appeared passive, but the two boys in the photos next to her look either shocked or scared. One was a brunette and the other a blond.

Historia glared at the photo of a kid with a buzzcut as she mentioned a delinquent. The kid looked confused in his photo but it was the one that resonated the most with Marco. It was the boy who threw salt at Jean earlier.

Finally, Historia stared at a photo with a pair of gentlemen when she talked about spirit hunters. One was a tall blond with thick eyebrows, and his hand rested on the shoulder of a smaller grumpier looking dark-haired man.

“I-I’m a photographer! I just wanted to take pictures of this place!” Marco answered, raising his hands like he was getting robbed at gunpoint.

Historia quirked an eyebrow, her dull eyes glancing at the camera around his neck.

“So, an admirer? How drab,” she sighed, walking towards the bed in the middle of the room. She laid on her side and rested a hand on her hip. “Does this do it for you? Even in death stories my beauty lives on.”

Marco slowly, lowered his hands, and clutched his camera.

“I mean you’re pretty, but you’re barking up the wrong tree, miss.”

Historia tilted her head, giving Marco a quizzical expression.

“Pardon? Are you some manner of flora?”

Marco pressed his lips together as his fear gave away to confusion.

“Huh? Oh no, that’s an expression. I’m saying I prefer something else.”

Historia rolled over her back, facing the intruder.

“Prefer something else? Have I lost my luster? I’m offended.” The ghost huffed, tilting her head back.

“That’s not it. I like guys, not girls.”

At that, Historia actually perked up. She rolled onto her stomach to face Marco, she bent her legs towards the ceiling and kicked them back and forth. Resting her chin in her hands, she studied him closer.

“Truly? You don’t strike me as a sodomite. Tell me, does your family know?”

Marco choked on air at the slur.

“Yes? My mom wasn’t happy at first but she accepted it. My siblings didn’t care. Hell, Lindsey likes talking about boys with me.”

Historia frowned at that, but nodded.

“Seems like the world has changed a bit as well. My father went and killed my love and even now he haunts me.”

Marco felt a chill go down his spine at the mention of that.

“He… he still haunts you?”

As soon as Marco spoke, he heard a faint shout from down the hall. His head snapped towards the door but it suddenly shut itself.

“Yes, and it seems he’s here yet again.”

The sound of another door creaking drew Marco’s attention to the bathroom where a small cloud of steam tumbled into the room. Through the mist another figure stepped, this one taller than the other. She only wore a towel around her torso but she had a hairband that reminded Marco of a French maid.

“Hello, darling,” the new ghost greeted the girl on the bed.

Historia’s face lit up as the new ghost approached her.

“Ymir! Just in time. We have a fellow homosexual in our midsts,” Historia gesatured to Marco.

Upon seeing the boy the new ghost's happy expression fell.

“I should’ve realized that dolt brought a friend. You must be Marco.”

Marco’s face paled at the mention of his name.

“Smart as ever, darling,.” Historia chuckled. She stretched her hand out. “I’m guessing you brought me another gift?”

“Of course.”

Marco quirked an eyebrow as Ymir lifted a hand to show she was holding a paint.

“Ooh, you saved his boyfriend?” Historia climbed to the side of her bed and stood up. She walked towards the end of the wall where the portrait of the ghost hunters sat. She hung the new painting with practiced ease.

What Marco saw staring back at him froze his blood in his veins.

In the picture, Jean stared back at Marco with wide eyes, jaw hung open, and raised eyebrows. His body was entirely naked save for a hand barely covering his crotch while his other hand was outstretched open as if telling someone to not come closer.

Jean looked absolutely terrified.

“Jean?” Marco mumbled.

“At least he had the decency to cover himself,” Ymir chuckled, walking over to Historia. She wrapped an arm around the smaller girl’s waist.

“It is more tasteful I suppose.”

“Shall I save that one?” Ymir asked, gesturing to Marco with her nose.

Marco grasped at the crucifix but was unable to move his legs. They felt like lead as his gaze flitted between the girls and Jean’s portrait. He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud groan from outside the room, muffled by the door.

Historia let out an annoyed huff.

“Does father ever cease his pursuit? For once, darling, I don’t think so. I like this one.”

Ymir frowned at Historia, tilting her head.

“Really?”

“Yes. He can still escape. That’s more than his poor boyfriend could.”

“What did you do to Jean?! Did you kill him?” Marco demanded to know. His eyes bounced back to the door as the groaning grew louder and the lights in the room began to flicker.

“I saved him,” Ymir stated, as if that explained everything.

“Your boyfriend is fine but he’s ours now. Neither alive or dead,” Historia rolled her eyes once more.

A sense of dread chilled Marco, like an icy dagger slowly stabbing into his ribs.

“Give him back! Please!” Marco begged, but the girls shook their heads.

“As long as my father prowls these halls they must be kept safe, lest they fall victim to his appetite,” Historia explained. “Do you have any knowledge of spirits?”

Marco slowly shook his head.

“Of course not, I didn’t believe in any of this until like an hour ago!”

The lights flickered once more, dulling to a very dim yellow. As the room darkened, the appearances of the ghosts changed.

Ymir’s eyes grew more sunken and a purple stripe appeared along her neck.

However, it was Historia’s new appearance that shook Marco to his core.

Historials pretty face grew flat, her nose smashed to the side. Tear streaks of red tinted her cheeks and one of her eyes disappeared entirely. The blond hair on her left side was now matted against her skull, covered in a mixture of blood, dirt, and a pink matter Marco did not recognize. Her left arm hung loosely and her leg bent in an unnatural direction.

“Well, better start believing now. If you value your life, take these servant’s stairs and get far away from here,” Historia’s voice now came out more ghastly and soft than before. She floated over to a corner of the room and pulled a latch on the wood paneling that revealed a set of stairs. “Consider this my parting gift. Now be quick and begone! He’s here.”

With that, both ghosts seemingly evaporated into the air.

Marco wanted to stay pressed against the wall but he immediately ran over to Jean’s portrait. He grabbed at the frame but was unable to remove it from the wall.

“Come on, I won’t leave you!” Marco shouted at the painting just as a thump came from the door. He craned his neck in time to hear the thumping grow louder. The old door creaked and splintered under the mysterious force.

The door swung open to reveal a hulking figure.

Marco’s face contorted as he took in the appearance of Historia’s father.

This ghost was portly compared to the others. He wore a dark tuxedo with its tie askew. Unlike Historia whose left side was pushed in, Rod’s body shape seemed almost intact. His face was a different story. Marco could barely make it out. His jaw hung open loosely, swinging with every move the ghost made. Blood covered most of his face, dripping from every orifice. In addition, his nose was pushed inwards and both his eyes were missing.

Hollow, black eyes sockets greeted Marco.

The shock of the sight left Marco frozen in place.

Marco was now almost as white as the ghosts he spoke to only moments earlier. He stood slack jawed at the gruesome sight in front of him.

“Marco, run. Please!” Jean’s faint voice whispered into Marco’s ear.

Snapping him from his stupor, Marco pulled the crucifix off his neck and chucked it at the ghost. The cross went flying through the creature but it recoiled with a guttural groan that almost froze Marco again.

Pushing through the dread, Marco ran for the tiny stairwell in the corner of the room. He practically flew down the stairs as adrenaline and fear carried him. The echoes of the monster above him spurred him on. For every two steps he took he heard a massive thud above him. Dust fell as the wood creaked under the weight of the ghost.

Marco reached the bottom floor only to find a door in his way. Mercifully he found a knob and turned it. Unfortunately the door didn’t budge.

“Oh hell no!” Marco shouted as the groaning above him grew louder.

Shoving his shoulder into the door, it gave out under his weight and Marco tumbled into a hallway. He almost dropped his camera in the accident.

Quickly gaining his bearings, Marco recognized the ground floor hallway he took pictures of only hours earlier. He sprinted down the hall for the lobby, pausing when he saw a large gathering of figures.

They all wore old suits and dresses, covering their faces with Venetian style masks. They chatted amongst the lobby as if nothing were strange about Marco’s sudden entrance. Small glasses of champagne bubbled in their hands.

It wasn’t until the loud groaning of Rod Reiss that they turned to face Marco. They quickly evaporated and left the lobby empty once more.

Hearing Jean’s last words in his mind one more time, Marco bolted for the entrance and slammed the door behind him. Marco sprinted to the van, almost slipping on the snow. Jumping into the driver’s side seat, he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. His shaking fingers could barely fumble through them.

The door to the hotel blew open as Rod Reiss’ hulking figure stepped out and onto the stairs. He let out a mighty roar that froze Marco in place.

Using the momentary panic to his advantage, Marco was able to steady himself and grab the car key. He shoved it into the keyhole. The van roared to life as Marco hit the gas.

The van swerved in the snow but he was able to spin it around on the driveway with practiced ease. He saw Rod Reiss approaching his vehicle with surprising speed in his side mirror before he floored it. As the van lurched forward, Marco glanced back at the hotel.

Marco’s heart sunk as he glanced at the fifth floor.

In the window, a pale, naked Jean pressed a hand against the glass. Marco could barely make out his features but the sorrowful expression on his face seared itself into Marco’s mind.

It wasn’t until the hotel was a spec in the darkness that Maro felt a wetness on his hands. He glanced down to see water dripping onto his grasp. His body was practically hugging the steering wheel as he sped away. Marco didn’t realize he was crying until he heard his sobs escaping himself.

He drove like that for what felt like an eternity until the faint lights of town appeared on the horizon. Only then did he pull over to try and calm down. He crossed his arms over his chest and curled into himself. Sobs wracked his body until his tears ran dry and his body stopped shaking.

As his body calmed down, Marco glanced down at his camera. He began flipping through his photos, occasionally spotting ghostly images in his pictures. When Marco reached pictures of the ballroom, Jean’s smiling face flashed across his screen. Marco paused at the image.

“Jean… I promise… I’m going to get you back!” Marco mumbled to himself, as the distant sound of fireworks echoed into the mountains. Marco shuddered as he began his first New Year in almost two decades without his best friend at his side.

He clutched the camera closer to his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I always make a healthy attempt to combine both prompts I'm given and this was by far the most challenging commodore. I really hope you enjoyed the tale and if you want more I have enough ideas for a sequel to that I simply did not have the time to add in. Between the world's shittiest coup and this past month, there's been a lot going on. (I wish you saw the look on my face when I saw I got you. I specifically sassed you in my application xD)
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, and of course, always a pleasure writing for a friend :D


End file.
